Death Wish
by LizzieMorewolfe
Summary: CHAPTER 2:Love is complicated on normal circumstances but it's even moreso if it's Clint Barton doing the loving.
1. Prologue

**First of all, hi. This is movie verse but post- Avengers. It's short for now because it's just a prologue. Tell me if it makes sense and I'll continue it. Spasiba. Enjoy.**

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Sometimes you wonder if you have a death wish. Then you remember just who you are and laugh, because, if your scars are any indication, you do have a death wish. And then you pause to think again and realize that, while you were in several (too many for your taste actually) near death situations, you were aware each and every time that you would make it out alive. Because HE was there, somewhere up there, making sure that you would live to see another day. So no, maybe you don't have a death wish.

Sometimes you wonder if you have a death wish. And every time this train of thought enters your mind, you dismiss it with that realization. But today, you might just have to say that yes, you do have a death wish. Because after what you just said, there was no way you were coming out of this alive.

At least, not with the way Clint reacted to your unintentional revelation.


	2. Chapter 1: Idiocy

**When I asked my friend to read the prologue, her comment was that people might not react to it that positively. So of course, I was shocked to find out that people were actually intrigued by it. Thank you for the Faves and the reviews. Very much appreciated. Enjoy the next chapter.**

Most people think that I'm a sociopath. I feel nothing but I am more than skilled at manipulating and directing other's feelings. However, contrary to popular belief, I am human. And, I'm very much humanly "head over combat boots" in love with Clint Francis Barton. Frankly it terrifies me and pisses me off at the same time. You see, I was programmed to be cold hearted, emotionless and to be this attached to another human being was strange and confusing. It also made me do all sorts of things, like getting shot in the gut, for example.

The bullet was originally destined for Clint's heart.

You see, my idiot partner decided that I couldn't hold off some ninja wannabes on my own and decided to leave his nest and fight on the ground with me. At that point there were only ten guys left which meant that I would have been done in a couple of minutes without his help. So of course, I got mad at him and of course, we ended up fighting, like always. He was too caught up trying to justify his doubt about my capability to perform excellently that he didn't notice that that last guy that he supposedly took out was very much conscious and had a gun in his hand. So of course, the idiot of an archer ended up with a bullet headed straight for his heart. And well, I happened to notice it and managed to somehow knock him to the ground and take the bullet instead. Did I mention that Clint Barton is the world's biggest idiot?

Well, he is. Because if he wasn't so impulsive and so quick to doubt my abilities, I wouldn't have had to take a bullet for him. And if he wasn't such an idiot, I wouldn't have had to turn into a cliche. Because let's face it people, this was probably the most clichéd thing I've ever done: taking a bullet for the man who probably would didn't care as much for me as I did just because I loved him. I hate being stereotyped and here I was, a living, aching proof it.

The worse part was that the pain, and every excruciating second I had to put up with it (I think the goon managed to nick one of my major organs), was making me drop my usual defenses and become scarily unguarded. So here I was, on the ground, bleeding out and suddenly there's heat creeping up my face as the guy I'm supposed to be mad at for his stupidity, is suddenly gently cradling me and looking absolutely terrified. Not only that, it was taking more than the usual effort needed to suppress the sigh of pleasure that was aching to escape my lips at the feel of his fingers running through my hair and stroking my cheek.

And this was when the mother of all humiliating things an unguarded Natasha Romanoff does happens. When Clint furiously asks me why I foolishly took the bullet meant for him, I answer, "Because, I love you."

The lulling darkness starts to cocoon me when suddenly, I am jolted into lucidity by a sharp pain. I look up to see Clint, his body tense, one of his hands (the one applying pressure to the wound), digging in deeper than was comfortable. Hence, the pain.

It was at this point that what I just said dawned on me. And my eyes dart up to his face once again only to see his shocked face and his unnerving lack of retorts. Thankfully, that mortifying discovery was enough to make me faint. Normally I would have killed myself before I got caught fainting; but, seeing as I just told THE guy that I was basically in love with him, this form of escape was blissfully welcomed.

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Sometimes I wonder if I have a death wish. And every time this train of thought enters my mind, I dismiss it. But today, I might just have to say that yes, I do have a death wish. Not because I just took a bullet for a guy. But because after what I just said, there was no way my heart was going to come out of this unscathed.

Especially with the way Clint reacted to that unguarded confession.

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**I'm sorry. I know the taking a bullet for another person thing is soooo cliched. But it served it's purpose and well, I can't concoct crazy theories and scenarios as well as Richard Castle can so, forgive me for using that plot line.**


	3. Chapter 2: Apathy and Empathy

**This is a short one. Sorry. But I'll have a companion fic of sorts that goes with this chapter up soon. Enjoy**

There are days when I take pride in my oddities, those qualities that make me not normal even for S.H.I.E.L.D.'s standards. It's what sets me apart and allows for me to be as good in my job as I am now. Like most other operatives, I am trained to be detached, to not allow myself to be vulnerable and to show how I really feel about a situation. However, unlike most S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, there is no off button, no switch that reverses this front of apathy even during downtime. This makes it easy for me to move from place to place and to be given longterm missions.

It is also my downfall.

So while I consider detachment a blessing most days, I am cursing it today.

Love is complicated and that's a well-known fact. Yet, despite its volatility, just the knowledge that you love her and that she loves you back is enough to give you the strength to make this vulnerable, unpredictable relationship work.

However, when you fear attachment the way I do and seek to disguise emotions under the carefully crafted façade of snarky quips, sarcastic replies and the every present smirk, you do not even have that reprieve to look forward to.

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Love is complicated and messy yet Clint Barton wishes that he wasn't too darned shy to tell her just those three precious words before he saw her eyes close.


	4. Chapter 3: Patience or Lack Thereof

**It seems that the further along I get in the story, the more dissatisfied I become with my writing. I'd like to apologize for taking forever to update. Also, it seems that some of you got confused with the last chapter and mistook it to be in Tash's POV. It was in Clint's as is this once. **

**I hope that you enjoy reading this chapter.**

For a person with my specific skillset, the most important trait to master is patience. And, since I can proudly say that I am one of the best (if not THE BEST) in my profession, I'm pretty sure that I have a lot of patience.

Correction, I usually have a lot of patience. However, like with the other elements that make me Hawkeye, this trait seemed to be non-existent when it came to a certain fiery ex-Russian spy.

For the first time in my life, the wait was agonizing. I had no idea that mere seconds could seem like hellish eternity. Each moment spent waiting was a moment more of her possibly bleeding out on the operating table. Those long, drawn out minutes, that were merely moments, the ones that gave me enough time to take a deep breath before releasing the arrow were now reminders that each one of those minutes could possibly be THE minute she would simply stop taking a breath.

Three hours. That's how long it's been since I had her hand torn away from mine as I was met with the OR doors swinging shut. Three torturously painful hours have passed since I shakily sank onto the floor as the realization hit me that the invulnerable Black Widow was very much vulnerable and that I might not ever get to tell her that I had fallen in love with her.

Three hours. And she was still inside the operating room, where hands that were not mine were patching her up.

It was supposed to be an easy mission. Take out the kingpin's goons, weasel the location where they were holding the innocent teenage Cuban girls out of the boss. turn him over to S.H.I.E.L.D. to receive the punishment due for his crimes as a human trafficking ringleader and free the poor girls. It was beneath them actually but they had had three consecutive rough missions and the higher ups wanted us to "take it easy for a while".

But somehow, the kingpin had gotten wind of what they were up to. We didn't suspect a thing at first. Sure, the guards were less efficient at fighting than we had expected and maybe the boss did cave earlier than we thought he would but we didn't think much of it. We realized that something was wrong after taking out the guards that were patrolling around the perimeter of the warehouse. As Tash was about to sneak in to disarm whatever security system they had inside as well as take out the rest of the goons, fifty men suddenly poured out of the place. They were huge, menacing creatures that I immediately knew were hired just to take us out. They were well trained, efficient and could somehow dodge my arrows. They knew who they were up against and were definitely prepared.

At this point in time, I'd like to point out that my mind was still reeling over the fact that just the night before, I had come to the conclusion that I was irrevocably compromised because I had fallen in love with my best friend.

I had thought, last night, that despite this revelation, I would be able to somehow squelch it down and still act normally. But, to my surprise and utter dismay, every single time she got hurt, I would get distracted and frantically worry. It was only her voice, taunting and muttering in Russian in my ear that would calm me down. When I saw her body teetering and swaying after knocking out a goon, I decided that I should go down and help her. Nevermind the fact that I knew that she was more than capable of taking them all out. My instincts were screaming at me to go down and help her, and maybe, the sight and feel of her fighting and winning (at a closer proximity) would be enough to assuage my worries.

She got mad of course. Natasha Romanoff never takes well to having guys swoop in as if she was a damsel in distress. I was too worried, too caught up in emotions that should not have been there to care. In fact, I was so busy proving that she needed my help that it wasn't until I felt the breath whoosh out of my lungs as she threw herself onto me that I realized that I had almost been shot.

It took another second for me to realize that while I had avoided the bullet, she didn't. And that's when all the panic settled in. I don't think I'd ever been that frantic or pissed for that matter. I remember screaming at her and berating her for doing something as stupid as taking a bullet for me. I remember angrily asking her what ever possessed her to do something like that.

Then she said it. Those three words that I had never expected to hear in this reality.

To say I was shocked would be an understatement. I was floored and caught off guard that I didn't have time to react before I lost sight of her emerald orbs.

The rest of that was a blur. Panic immediately replaced the euphoria that was building up inside of me. I only remember holding her hand as we were transported back to the base and then her being wheeled into the OR and me sinking onto the floor.

I check my watch for the umpteenth time. 6:05 pm. Three and a half hours since I last saw her.

Another agonizing half an hour passes and I'm about ready to burst into the room to kill all the doctors and nurses because they were taking way too long to fix her up when suddenly a man in blue scrubs comes out of the room.

"Mr. Barton? Hi, I'm Dr. Daniels. I know it took longer than expected but the bullet had nicked a couple of her major organs since it bounced around for a bit. We had to repair those before we could stitch her up. She's lost quite a lot of blood but she's had a transfusion. Her heart rate and oxygen levels were, fortunately pretty stable during the operation. All in all? I think she's going to be just fine."

I let out a breath at this and as I exhaled, I felt a heavy weight slowly ease off of my shoulders and suddenly, I get this feeling that all's right with the world again.

**Reviews please? It's always nice to know how people feel about what I write down. Thanks.**


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